Skyrim Chronicles
by Boredom Management
Summary: A series of short stories based on the Imperial province of Skyrim...


**The Outsider**

* * *

A trade caravan consisting of three horse-drawn carriages trudged across the blasted landscape of Eastmarch, journeying through the falling snow towards their destination in the north. The leading carriage suddenly halted on its track, causing the others to stop as well.

"What's the hold up?" A woman in a fur cape came forward, followed by the master of the caravan. "Bandits?"

"No, worse", the female Khajiit guard said without looking back. "There's a Mammoth crossing ahead, with a giant blocking our path."

It's bad news indeed, as giants usually attacks anyone who or what they is a threat to their herd.

"If you'd like, I will just have to-", the woman offered but paused when a furry hand landed on her shoulder. Looking back, she saw the master of the caravan shaking his head in objection, his whiskers and beard shaking off the snow clinging onto it as he did so.

"No, my friend," he replied. "Aggression only begets aggression. Especially with that creature." He pointed at the giant with its club lowered, currently giving the group a glare meant to intimidate. "Let's just wait it out."

Tension was building as the seconds went by. Until the last of the sluggish-moving mammoths were herded across the road and back to the giant's camp did they relaxed a bit, loosening their hold on their weapons.

"Let's move, before the cold make a frozen sculpture out of us," the master joked, earning a few chuckles from the group, and that did managed to lower the tension.

The group continued their journey while keeping a cautious eye on the giant a short distance away, the said creature doing the same, until they were out of sight. They soon reached their destination - the city that sit besides the White River of Eastmarch: Windhelm, the city of the Bear.

They wouldn't dare cross the long stone bridge across the freezing river to get inside - and suffer the jarl's wrath - and any of the Holds not under Imperial control for that matter. So they contented themselves to set up their camp just a short distance from the stable, anywhere where the cold winds of Skyrim won't blow directly.

"Thank you, Ri'saad," the woman spoke to the master. "But you shouldn't have to divert from your usual trade route just for me. I could always hitch a ride with Ma'dran's."

The elder Khajiit smiled. "Anything for a friend. And besides, I also wanted to inspect his route, and Ahkari's too in the near future."

"Do be careful," the woman smiled then turned to leave, getting her knapsack from the nearby carriage. "So long, friend." She then bade them as she waved her hand. "Hope we'll meet again."

"As do we, my friend," Ri'saad waved back. Khayla, the female guard, just raised her hand with a smile of her own.

The woman slung her knapsack and started to walk to the stone bridge, passing by the stable on the way. She caught glimpse of a figure, another Khajiit pawnbroker all by himself taking shelter from the snow, besides his own carriage filled with goods and other tradable items. He's acting all weird, with how he watched her walk by, and constantly looking around. and the only thing on her mind was, he was someone who came to the province alone. She had other doubts, but she quickly erased them away and moved on.

Reaching the gates of Windhelm, she was stopped by the gatekeepers, wearing fur capes over their armor, just enough to keep the cold in bay.

"Halt! What's your business here?"

The woman smiled. "Oh, I'm just a traveling sellsword, wishing for a warm place to stay in the night."

* * *

Patrolling through the cold wind, Khayla stopped and reflexibly grabbed for her sword as she spotted someone up ahead, coming closer and closer. Then she relaxed as she realized that it was another Khajiit trader, who stopped on his tracks when he saw her.

"Good day, kinsman!" Khayla called out.

"Good day to you too!" The other Khajiit replied as he came closer. "I hear there were other traders from my homeland here, and I'm glad it's true," he said with a friendly smile.

"Say, were you lost?"

"I'm embarrassed to say it," the other looked down as he scratched his head. "But sadly, yes..."

"Then, you're welcome to stay with us until you familiarize yourself in this land," Khayla offered with a smile.

"Really!?" The other said in surprise and happiness. "Thank you, S'rendarr... By the way, I'm known as J'datharr..."

* * *

An air of gloom fell upon her as the woman set foot inside the city, disappointing by the scene before her. Beggars asked for alms while trying to keep themselves warm by the fire as the night sets in. Two Nord men, locals, were arguing with a Dunmer woman, dark-skinned elves, and a passing city guard chose to ignore them. A drunk came out staggering from a nearby tavern directly up ahead before her, sitting alone like an island in the middle of the square; the drunk walked a few paces before passing out in the cold.

"It sure is gloomy around here," she muttered before heading towards the said tavern, and had to sidestep a brawl between two men at the door.

Inside, she could hear a bard playing a lute at the second level of the building with the stairs leading to it directly to her right, accompanied by some drunken chanting and boisterous laughter, and the smell of smoke and Nord mead filling the air. To her left, the innkeeper, a woman nearing her old age, angrily pounded on the wall adjacent the counter while calling to the noisy pair in the other room in the process of lovemaking, while a man sits alone at the counter, oblivious or trying hard to ignore the sounds, or just too drunk to care, taking a sip out of his cup in relative unpeacefulness.

The woman approached the counter and that's when the innkeeper finally noticed her. "Oh, hello there, traveler. Welcome to the Candlehearth Hall! Come, sit. Have a mug of mead. Make yourself comfortable." She offered with a smile.

She took the offer, dropping her knapsack, but leaving her sword as it is, taking a seat on the stool besides the lonely drinker, before removing the hood of her fur cape. Long, silvery-white hair cascaded down like silver water and flowed like silk as she brought it out of the confines of the cape. With one hand, she brushed the stray strands along with a braided part behind one ear as her other hand brought the offered mug of mead into her lips.

A pair of voices began to increase in pitch, echoing inside the first level of the inn as the lovers occupying the next room began to reach into the heights of euphoria, their voices crying out in chorus as they rode out the throes of pleasure, before dying down into hard panting and some giggles. The innkeeper, she noticed, kept muttering to herself, like "By the nine!" and "people this days"' but noticeably calmed down along with the pair. Then, the man besides her suddenly slumped onto the counter, drunk and unmoving, knocking over his left-over drink next to her. Instantly, the innkeeper got a rag and got around to clean it up.

"I'm sorry for that," she apologized while wiping. "This sort of things always happen, whether by some drunk or someone going there."

"It's alright, no harm done," the woman smiled.

"Say, are you by any chance traveling alone? There's still an empty room here for the night."

"Thanks, but-"

"I insist," the innkeeper said sternly. "This inn may be filled with knuckleheads, but its the second safest place here in the city. Only next to the jarl's at the palace, that is."

"Why? Is there something wrong?"

"Everything's wrong in here, my dear. First, dragons came from the dead, and now, a murderer is on the prowl, looking for victims in young women like you. Poor Susanna... I don't like her attitude sometimes, but she's a good server, making sure that patrons came back for more."

"Sorry about that," the woman said before taking another sip of the cold mead. "Other things wrong around here?"

"Oh, it's those outsiders! and those dark elves living in the Grey Quarters, and another of their kind coming in was just what this city needs!"

Her tone was dripping with disgust towards the elves and outsiders in general, the woman noticed. "New arrivals perhaps?"

"You're right on the spot," the older woman replied, returning behind the counter. "Only a few days ago, a pair of elves showed up, asking for that place where their kind go to. I think they're running away from something, and decided that Windhelm is the best place. Damn elves."

'Running away? Pair?' The woman thought, "what do they look like?"

"Hmm, the usual traits of wood elves, pointy ears, slanted eyes, short... And one thing's for sure. They're really scared of something."

The woman was silent for a while, drinking up her mead while contemplating. Then she got up, putting down some pieces of silver coins on the counter for her drink, and picking up her baggage. "Thanks for the drink. Now, can you tell me where those Bosmers went?"

* * *

The wind and snow had already stopped, and Khayla was thankful for that, knowing that she can guard the camp well enough. The scents and sounds of the night will be stronger for her to sense due to her acute senses, a commonality among the feline race of the Khajiiti.

A breeze blew her way as she patrolled near the stables, which made her stop and tense up.

"What's the matter?" Ma'randro-jo, another member of the caravan, asked as he came to her, sensing her discomfort, and having traveled together for so long, he knew what her bodily expressions meant.

"Blood..." Khayla muttered, her eyes looking left to right and vice versa for something, while her hand found its way to the hilt of her sword.

"What?"

"I smell blood..."

* * *

The door of one of the rooms in the Candleheath Hall opened, and a young Nord woman with short-cropped hair came out, followed by a handsome man of Imperial lineage, who quickly groped her rear. This made the woman giggle as she tried to catch his hand, and failing.

"Alain! It's not the place for that!" She chastised him with more giggles as she faced him.

"No, my love," Alain kissed her on the lips deeply as he next massaged her breast underneath her dress as his other hand traveled back to her rear. "Anywhere is a good place."

The sound of someone's throat clearing made them look at the innkeeper.

"Muiri, your close friends, the Shatter-shields, are mourning for their lost daughter, and you're here doing what? Sharing a bed with someone you just met?" Helgrid, the innkeeper spoke in a chastising tone.

"Oh, piss off, old woman," Alain retorted, putting an arm around Muiri's shoulder in an act of possessiveness, Muiri doing the same with her arm around his waist. "She's no daughter of yours."

"Watch your tongue, young man. For you might someday lose it permanently." Helgrid replied darkly.

Alain just scoffed and walked out with Muiri into the night.

* * *

"Damn, damn, damn..." Malborn muttered, cursing his luck as the events at the Thalmor Embassy replayed in his head. "Damn Delphine for getting me into this mess!"

It's been a few days since he and Brelas came into the city seeking refuge, and with no money to pay for their food and lodging, he had somehow convinced Brelas to work in one of the Dunmer's home temporarily until the time of their departure, while he himself will find ways for them to flee the region without the Thalmor at their heels. But things didn't quite go as planned, and now, he sat in the New Gnisis Cornerclub, lamenting is decisions and blaming anyone who comes to mind for his misfortune. So focused was he on his self-pitying that the sharp creaking sound of unoiled hinges of the door opening, coupled with the loud insults of one drunk Nord outside, still failed to capture his attention.

"Malborn."

He jumped in surprise, knocking the chair he was sitting on, and earning a few glances from the tavern's patrons. "You!"

"Yes, me," the woman calmly said, sliding down the opposite chair. "And I believed I have a name."

"Damn you," the Bosmer cursed as he righted his seat before sitting on it. "It's your fault that I was now being hunted down like a game by them!"

"Actually, they've been into you for a long time now," she explained as she fished something from her knapsack by the table, pausing as her hand landed on a certain document, before bringing out a piece of paper and handing it to him. "They had a dossier with all your information on it. They already knew."

* * *

Garmr shuddered as he finished his urinal on top of the stone bridge, letting his piss be washed away by the White River downstream, returning to his post and finding his partner, Asger, slightly shivering from the cold night air. Evidently, the fur coat proved not enough against Skyrim's icy air, specially when doing nothing outside, just waiting for something to happen. Ah, a guard's life indeed.

"It had gotten really cold lately," Asger commented.

"Aye, it is," Garmr replied. "Perhaps, one of us should drop by at the Candlehearth for a few minutes, grab some cold mead so we can enjoy ourselves out here."

"Can't be done. Anyone can tell apart an on-duty guard from the rabble."

"Aye, you're right. Damn! Why does it ave to be so cold right now!"

"Or... We could just ask Ulundil if he's got some stashed away."

"Sounds like a great idea. But make sure to come right back up, we have no idea when the captain will decide to take a stroll outside."

"Oh, I will," Asger reassured him as he walked towards the stable house with his torch.

"And make sure to come back not smelling like horse dung this time!" Garmr called out lastly.

"Ha ha! I won't!"

* * *

Malborn was at loss for words as he read the contents written on the paper, his face growing paler by the second as he reached the last words.

"No... It can't be..." He muttered under his breath, wishing that all that was written on that paper were all false, or that someone else's name was on it instead of his own. "How did they found out?"

"Agents," the woman simply said. "A powerful faction such as the Aldmeri Dominion can have hundreds of them, or so that's what Delphine's told me."

"Malborn's eyes widened in shock as a thought occurred to him. "No no no no..."

"What is it now?"

"I'm a dead mer..." He mumbled.

In irritation, the woman seized him by the collar and yanked him closer, causing the Dunmers to tense up around them. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"There's someone!" The Bosmer gasped out of fear of her fury. "I think there's someone already out there after my head! And Brelas' to!"

He was released and slumped back to his chair like a vegetable, and the other elves visibly relaxed, returning to their own business, but giving them an occasional glance at times.

"Tell me, how much do you know?"

"N-not much, but if tidbits of information even helps, here's some. I was originally planning to flee to Morrowind, since the Dunmer don't care much for the Thalmor, but there's a problem standing between me - or us - and that goal."

"Go on."

"You see, there's this Khajiit outside the city who kept giving me the creepy look. And he's a pawnbroker - or that's just a disguise."

"You don't think that he's with the Khajiit traders, do you?" The woman asked accusingly.

"No, I think not. He's ahead of the scheduled arrival of the traveling caravan by a few days. And come to think of it, he's not selling anything either, just standing there giving off a sinister aura." Malborn's eyes widened again as he came to a conclussion. "I think he is a Thalmor assassin!"

The woman stood abruptly, surprising him yet again. "Malborn, you better get out of Skyrim as soon as possible. And take Brelas with you." An image of a lone Khajiit at the stables flashed on her mind, a mysterious one, and now she knows why.

"I would, if that Thalmor agent is out of the way. I guess he was waiting for us to cross the border before killing us along the- Hey! Where are you going!?"

The woman ignored him and rushed out of the tavern, leaving her knapsack behind.

* * *

'This is odd,' Asger thought out aloud as he neared the stable house, having its lamps inside unlit for some reason. 'Ulundil and Arivanya don't sleep this early.'

Standing by the door, he pounded on the wooden door while calling out. "Ulundil! It's Asger! Open up! I want a word with you!" No answer. "This is not the time to be doing your wife!" He joked, coupled with a good humored chuckle. But still, no answer. "Ulundil!"

With his torch in hand, he tried to peek through the window with the flames illuminating the house's interior. He saw nothing, so he decided to go to the next place where he saw some light still - the stables. But if he had looked more thoroughly inside the house, he would see the blood sprayed on the walls, and Arivanya's cold body by the bed.

The horses seemed spooked, as they had kept on neighing even before Asger got down the steps to the stable. They seemed restless for some reason, and he could sense their fear.

"Whoa," he held out a hand to calm one down, when he caught glimpse of something on the frozen ground that made him stop.

Blood.

He quickly drew his sword out and looked around, but even with the torchlight, he could not see beyond its glow range. he focused on the blood, following its trail towards the haystack at the corner, starting from drops to a bloody drag mark, and what he saw at the end of it made his blood run cold.

There, hidden by the hay, lay Ulundil; his guts spilled on the ground, his head detached from his body, and a leg missing. And his face showed what he felt before he was brutally killed. Pure terror. In life, Ulundil occasionally tell others that he would not give in to fear, not letting it direct his life, and held on to that. But now...

Asger felt his stomach churn, quickly taking out his helmet and vomited onto the ground. There's no man nor mer that could do this. Except one, and he shivered at the thought.

Werewolf.

This is bad news indeed, one that needs to reach the jarl's ear. So despite his convulsing stomach, he started towards the stone steps. But as he neared the top, something stood in his way. He looked up and saw something he did not expect, and before he could act, a blade passed in his throat. A gurgling sound was all that was heard from him as he slowly choked on his on blood, dropping to his knees while trying to stem the bleeding, in vain. A glint of metal was all that he saw before he saw his surrounding spin around him, and his last vision froze on his now headless body rolling down the steps. On top of the stairs was a creature, not a werewolf, but something close, holding a bloody chopping axe, being illuminated by the fallen torch. Feline eyes looked down upon him, or the head, until all turned to darkness.

* * *

'What took Asger so long?' Garmr thought, embracing himself as the cold intensified. 'Damn, they must be drinking all by themselves!'

The thought of Asger, Ulundil, and Arivanya all drinking by the fireplace, all warm and cozy made him cringe in jealousy. Unforgivable! But another thought occurred to him, something dark, which involved the three aforementioned all drunk and naked and... and now his mind was wandering to his perverted side. He chuckled at himself. Well, if Ulundil would permit it, he would do his wife. Hard. And what he's doing now is trying to entertain himself as he waited for his partner, but someone who won't return ever.

He was still in his fantasy-oriented thoughts when he saw a figure coming towards him, but can't quite take a good look because it's not using a torch to reveal itself. It stopped and moved its limbs, and he couldn't determine if it was a friend or foe, so he had no choice but to approach it.

"Asger! Is that you?!" He called out. No answer came back. "Ulundil?! Arivanya?!"

But the reply didn't came in words. An arrow shot from the darkness, hitting him in the shoulder, and knocking him back. Another arrow pierced through his chainmail into his gut, and he then decided to run. Run for help inside. He only got away five paces when the last arrow pierced him in the throat, the tip coming out the front. He crumpled and fell dead just a few paces from the gate.

* * *

"Have you seen the one called J'datharr?" Khayla asked the group, and the only response she got was the shaking of heads and "no".

"Why? Is there a problem with him?" Ri'saad asked out of curiosity and concern. "He said that he'd have to check on his baggage by the stable not long ago."

"I'm sorry, master, but I had doubts about his real motives."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he's not what he claimed he is. Not at all."

The woman rushed out of the opening gates, but stopped for a moment just outside, looking down. The other gatekeepers inside got curious as to why she stopped and peered out. Then, a moment later, the horns were sounded of a possible attack on the city.

The woman run again, heading for what she think was the Khajiiti camp, just past the stable. A glance at the stable, she witnessed the other gatekeeper's corpse hidden by the haystack except for the feet, which were all but covered by some snow. However, its not what she was worried about, so she continued. At last, she reached the camp, but found no souls; only the tell-tale signs that they were here once - tents set up, bonfire blazing in the center, with a cooking pot over the flames.

"Everyone!" She called out while looking around the camp. "Where are you!"

A twig breaking caught her attention to the far sides into a clump of trees. She instantly unsheathed her sword, a unique weapon among any, and readied herself. A figure came slowly into the light of the fire, and she saw that it was...

"Ri'saad?" She asked, putting her sword back.

"Yes, I am," the Khajiit replied. "Why? Something wrong?"

"Uh, no... I was just checking on you... Where are the others?"

"They were just seeing what J'datharr's wares are. And all I can say is, his trading is quite... amateur... Selling some books and only some ingredients-"

"Wait. Who's J'datharr?" Her heart began to beat faster.

"Oh, my apologies. You still haven't met our new member, the one we just welcomed here."

As if on cue, the others came from behind the trees, with their new member. The woman's eyes narrowed as she set her eyes on him - its the one she saw at the stable earlier, the mysterious Khajjit. And Malborn's words earlier rang in her ears again: "You see, there's this Khajiit outside the city who kept giving me the creepy look. And he's a pawnbroker - or that's just a disguise." She wracked her mind for something to do in this situation, without involving the others into it.

Out of other options, she just moved towards them as her legs carried her forward. "There's someone from the city that had a message." She looked the Khajiit, J'datharr, in the eyes. "Malborn says hello."

The Khajiit's eyes seemed to flash as he smirked, coming forward as well. "Malborn? Well then, I guess we have an agreement." And in the blink of an eye, an elven dagger found itself in his grasp.

This reaction didn't surprise the woman, in fact she was grateful that he had come forward on his own to settle things himself, as she dodged the first strike, avoiding the follow-up claw swipe, and blocking a double leg back thrust with her forearms. However, the assassin didn't give her time to draw her sword, relentlessly attacking her with his dagger-and-claw combinations, also incorporating some form of martial art that involved crouching, acrobatics, and pinpoint strikes using his claws. All of which the woman managed to parry or block with her now drawn out sword.

Khayla was dumbfounded as she watched battle, her hand frozen on the hilt of her sword, unable to draw it out out of... amazement?

"Is that...?"

"Yes, it is," Ri'saad answered. "It's the Whispering Claw..."

"Then we should-" Khayla managed to pull out half of the blade's length when Ri'saad stopped her.

"No, Khayla. We must trust her with this battle."

Some of the soldiers started to come, and seeing the battle, decided - foolishly - to intervene, only to be cut down by the assassin in a whirlwind of moves that ended with the men lying dead on the snow. The woman used the opportunity to get a safe distance between them to try and assess him.

'He's fast,' she commented to herself, watching as the last two soldiers were dispatched quickly. 'I have no choice then but to use it.' She threw away her fur cape, revealing her armor, a Nord steel armor set; she then made an unexpected move that may even surprise a daedra, sheathing her sword all but a quarter's length as she got into a low stance, gripping her sword with her right and the scabbard with the other.

The assassin turned to face her after dropping the last soldier, giving her a questioning look. Then smiling smugly without saying a word.

"Who are you!? Are you working for the Thalmor?" The woman demanded.

Which only made the khajiit chuckle darkly before replying, "Yes, I am. I am called by the name J'datharr, and a master of the Whispering Claw martial art. I was ordered to eliminate that Bosmeri traitor for the Almeri Dominion, and I can kill anyone who stands in the way of my mission. And that means you." He then went into a crouch, ready to attack at any moment.

"Then," the woman spoke. "That means that you're nothing more than a lapdog for them, a disposable tool that they can throw away once you become a liability to them. And lapdogs will be a lapdog for me."

J'datharr's eyes flashed with rage and took off at a blinding speed. "Die!"

The woman bid her time, focusing on the assassin's movement, speed, and her timing. She exhaled and steadied her hand. She had to do it right.

Five paces...

Three paces...

She inhaled deeply, letting the air in and holding it.

One pace...

" **SU!** "

Her sword seemed to be imbued with lightning as she drew it out, and the very winds seemed to accelerate it even further as she struck the assassin in one movement, cutting through fabric, armor, and fur alike like a knife into a sweet roll. J'datharr's shriek filled the night as he was blown away by the force, tumbling and rolling on the snow until he stopped a few paces away.

The woman exhaled as she slowly straightened up, removing the blood from the sword's blade with a sharp swing, before sheathing it back. She walked towards the dying assassin and knelt beside him, inspecting the wound she gave him; a long gash traveling from his right side to his left neck, severing blood vessels and causing his rich blood to spurt outwards onto the snow.

"The Th-Thamor... will only send more like m-me!"

"You're dying, and that's all you wanted to say?"

The assassin only grinned. "The Thalmor... never... forgetttt..." Were his last words as he took his last breath, leaving his eyes still open and his mouth agape.

"Yes, they don't, apparently," the woman said as she stood up. She turned to the Khajiiti group, "Is everyone alright?"

"We are," Ri'saad replied with a smile, glancing at the dead Khajiit and cursed. "Thalmor filth! Giving all the Khajiiti a bad name!"

"So, you already knew?"

"Yes, thanks to Khayla. But we had to be sure, so we played his game a bit."

"Good thing you did, otherwise-"

"YOU THERE! IN THE NAME OF JARL ULFRIC STORMCLOAK, SURRENDER YOURSELVES, OR DIE!" A voice boomed and they found themselves surrounded by Stormcloak soldiers, weapons drawn out, while archers drew their bows, their deadly arrows pointed at them.

The Khajiiti tensed up, all hands to weapons, but the woman stopped them. "Wait, let me talk to them." She then turned to face the commander of the soldiers, a large man with shaven head and braided brown beard, clad in a Stormcloak commander's armor, one with bear pelt and claws on the shoulder. An intimidating man who towered over her, yet she calmly walked and confronted him, looking up just to look into his eyes. "You're here to arrest us? On what charge?"

"For murdering innocent civilians in that stable, and here, murdering the soldiers of the jarl."

"Any proof of the deed?"

"These bodies were enough," he sneered as he looked at the Khajiiti group. "And if they're with you, they are accomplices to the crime too." The Khajiiti visibly bristled by his statement. "And would gladly kill you all myself, you outsiders!"

The woman sighed. "Then please tell your jarl that you murdered a messenger from the Greybeards. I'll bet he won't take it too good and have your head instead."

The commander's ire rose and readied his battleaxe. "Why you-. Die!" Weapon raised and was about to bring it down when a powerful voice called from the rear.

"STOP!"

All stopped and looked at the man walking towards them flanked by his honor guards, his housecarl, an aged man with an intimidating look, moved ahead of them and cleared the way for them. The man was a man with a large build along with an intimidating aura about him.

"Jarl Ulfric!" The soldiers saluted him with a fist to their chest and a slight bow.

He halted, studying the group before him, zeroing in onto the woman. "You said you have a message from the Greybeards."

"Well, I lied," she replied.

"You liar!" The commander prepared to attack again, when the housecarl appeared in front of him and causing him to stop.

"In order to keep our heads, I said I had a message, just to stop this madman you call as one of your own from harming my companions." She looked at the commander with an implied look. "But I'm not lying when I said that the Greybeards sent me."

"Hmm, then you must be another Tongue. Impressive. I've never met others like me, until now. But..."

His housecarl gestured to the surrounding soldiers with crisp hand signals, and they understand at once, sheathing back their swords and backing away from them. The Khajiiti sensed something not right as they looked at each other. The begruntled commander sneered at her as he too walked away.

"Many charlatans traveling into this city thinks they can get what they want just because they claimed to be one of the fabled Tongues, and they were tested. And there's only one way to test it."

"Wait! What are you-" Her eyes widened as realization dawned upon her. "You can't be using it?!"

Ulfric paid her no heed as he inhaled a lungful, facing the Khajiiti in their panicked state. "Fus..." He began with his baritone voice.

The woman quickly positioned herself between him and the group while doing the same. "Fus..."

" **RO - DAH**!"

" **RO - DAH!** "

A tremendous amount of energy emanated from each other's voices, akin to a magick spell but not quite, violently slamming against each other like tidal waves. The collision of the two powerful forces created a shockwave, throwing soldiers and civilians alike into the air like leaves in an updraft. Their Thu'um echoed across the snowy mountains, and causing something that should not be named slumbering to awaken.

The yelling of the soldiers were heard afterwards, and the rekindling of torches revealed the two Tongues still standing at the epicenter.

"So, you can still use the Thu'um even after years of dormancy," the woman commented. "You truly were a student of the Greybeards ."

"And you can, indeed, use it well, as expected with someone who trained under them," Ulfric shot back. "Now, tell me, what is your name?"

"Why? Have you forgotten? At Helgen?" The woman asked in surprise. Ulfric's only response was a questioning stare, so she reiterated. "Then let me reintroduce myself. I am... Zola Stormcrown..."

After a while, Ulfric smiled and looked at his soldiers gathered around him. "Men! We have an important guest tonight! Go, make preparations for a banquet at the palace."

The soldiers could only look at each other and then to him in confusion. Then one inquired, "My jarl, who, if I may ask, is this guest?" It was an honest question of curiosity.

"Why," Ulfric turned to him. "You're looking right at her..."


End file.
